


Ionic Compounds

by Limelasers



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Romance, Teacher-Student Relationship, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limelasers/pseuds/Limelasers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is in trouble. He's a year behind already, he's the smallest guy in his year, and he's hopelessly head-over-heels for his science teacher, a certain Dr Banner.<br/>(Originally a prompt here: http://fanfishfills.tumblr.com/post/56692654062/do-you-write-steve-x-bruce-can-we-get-a-school-au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Electronegativity

**Author's Note:**

> You can find this work and similar at www.fanfishfills.tumblr.com, and prompt new fics too!
> 
> Please note that for this work, Steve Rogers is over 18, the age of consent. Thank you very much for reading!

"Steve, could you stay behind for me after class…?" Dr Banner called over the scrape of chairs and babble of students ready to escape from the confines of school for the weekend. Bright blue eyes looked up from the back of the classroom, locked on the teacher in mild concern, as their owner nodded.

"Ooooh~" Bucky sing-songed beside Steve quietly, elbowing him playfully (but gently- Steve was breakable, and had sharp elbows for retaliation). “I’ve got a grocery shift, you okay getting home if I don’t wait?" He checked.

"Sure." Steve nodded, running a hand through his hair a little nervously. He knew his grades in science had taken a bit of a dip since Dr Foster had gone on maternity leave, thanks in no small way to the replacement Shield High had hired and his quiet intelligence and rare smile and his messy brown hair that Steve absolutely had to draw and run his fingers through (not necessarily in that order). It wasn’t that Dr Banner was a bad teacher- he knew his subject, without a doubt, and Steve was a fan of his calm, in control manner, even if it sort of baited some of the other students to mess around. No, it was- and Steve knew it was stupid- deliberate. He had been deliberately dropping marks in order to try to get Dr Banner to talk to him one on one, even just to tell him off, because he yearned for more than just 1/30th of his attention three times a week. He knew it was dumb, but he did genuinely understand the subject (well, well enough to get passing marks), and he couldn’t see a problem with just working hard enough in private, pretending to be failing in class long enough to get some time with Dr Banner, maybe even enough to prove he wasn’t just some skinny art kid who spent most his time with a black eye.

However, as Steve approached Dr Banner’s desk, everyone else filing out, the classroom getting quieter, he was forced to wonder whether he’d made a huge mistake. What good would talking to Dr Banner be if he looked so painfully disappointed while he did? He came to stand in front of the battered old MDF construction that passed for a desk in their schools, suddenly acutely aware of every inch and detail of Dr Banner’s face, the dust motes on his thick glasses and the line of his neck under that thrift shop sweater and the dusting of stubble on his jaw and the deft movement of his tanned hands and Steve was so gone and all he could do was try and look anywhere except Dr Banner’s frown and pray he wasn’t blushing. “You wanted to see me, sir…?”

"Yes." Dr Banner nodded, leafing through some papers and coming to a halt with something that looked like Steve’s progress file on top of the pile. “I wanted to talk to you about something, and I’m pretty sure you know what it is." He said, voice more serious than Steve liked to hear it. A cold pebble sank in his stomach as he nodded, mentally bracing himself for the inevitable ruining of his fictional-anyway-but-wasn’t-it-nice-to-pretend chances with the substitute teacher.

"I want to talk to you about your grades, Steve." Dr Banner began, pulling out a sheet of paper, eyes darting down what Steve recognised as his unit test scores. “They’ve been declining steadily ever since I took over from Dr Foster as your teacher. Do you want to tell me what that’s about…?"

"I’m sorry." Steve did his best to look sheepish. This was not the kind of conversation he wanted to have with Dr Banner, even though a little part of him still loved the fact he had his undivided attention for once.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"I don’t want to hear you apologise, Steve." Dr Banner said gently. “I want to know what’s wrong- and I want you to be honest, this is about your education. Do you think you would do better under a different teaching style? I know I can be a little-"

"No!" Steve interrupted, then a second later felt completely mortified. “I- I mean it’s not your teaching, sir."

"All right." Dr Banner nodded, looking back to the notes. “You know you can call me Dr Banner, Steve. Believe it or not, I’m only a few years older than you. Nobody calls me sir." He said, smiling a little, clearly trying to make Steve feel more comfortable. “Even waiters hesitate."

Steve chuckled a little, smiling back. “All right.”

"Okay, so it’s not my teaching." Dr Banner looked back down, looking over the page again and breaking their mutual smiles. Steve wished he hadn’t. “Do you know what you’re struggling with…?"

Steve nodded, a little reluctantly. “Sort of.”

"Well." Dr Banner looked back up, over his glasses. “I have the feeling you might know a bit better than that. I noticed something a little strange about your work, Steve- your working out in your exercise books and in class are all fine, even in tests you get the working right, but then, for some reason… well, your answers are wrong." Crap. Rumbled. Steve wondered how likely it would be that he could survive a jump from the window (uh, unlikely, Earth to Steve, a breeze is a legitimate threat to you) to get out of this.

"What do you make of that, Steve…?"

"Uhm." Steve looked very awkward. Very awkward indeed.

"Because what I’m thinking is that you’re doing it deliberately. And I’m wondering exactly why a student as bright as you would be deliberately dropping marks." Dr Banner raised an eyebrow. “Now, I happen to know that Tony Stark and yourself have a somewhat complicated relationship, and I also happen to know that Tony tutors science for extra credit. If you’re doing this deliberately so that you can get Tony as a tutor-"

"No, it’s not Tony." Steve looked mildly horrified. It wasn’t like he didn’t like Tony, and despite a slightly rough start to their friendship they worked well together now, but Tony wasn’t comfort and dark eyes and a teasing smile. Tony was a firework, and Dr Banner was a slow-burning blaze- not to mention the fact that the idea of kissing Tony’s burgeoning beard and then having that spread across the school made him shudder a bit. Tony was great for other people, but-

Why was Dr Banner looking at him like that…? A little late he realised he’d sort of… put the emphasis on the “Tony” bit.

"So it’s someone else." Dr Banner concluded, and Steve winced internally. The science teacher sighed and tugged off his glasses, cleaning them on the corner of the bit of his shirt that poked out from under his jumper. “Listen, Steve. I know that when you’re at school, relationships can seem like everything that’s important, but your studies have to be your priority."

"You’re right." This was the most ridiculous thing he’s ever-

"That’s why, since you’re fine with my teaching style, I’m going to tutor you."

Oh.

"Oh."

"I don’t know which tutor you were hoping to get, and I don’t actually think you need academic help, but I want to check you’re making the progress you deserve to, all right?" Dr Banner explained, and Steve couldn’t nod fast enough. “I’m a trained tutor, so you don’t need to worry on that front, and it won’t cost you anything, since it’s technically in my capacity as a teacher." He looked up at Steve. “Do you think that might help?"

It wasn’t a question. Steve nodded anyway. “Yes. Thank you, si- uh. Dr Banner.”

"No problem." Dr Banner nodded.


	2. Enthalpy Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tutoring! Other characters! A lizard!
> 
> You can find this fill, along with a number of others, at www.fanfishfills.tumblr.com, and prompt some new fics!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Multiple chapters, how novel!

Dr Banner’s apartment building was far cleaner than any of the blocks near Steve’s- it was red brick edged with cream, and each window had a well-maintained window box outside it. Steve could already feel his eyes watering, not just from the pollen, but from the evening sun, hung low in the sky, shining off each glittering glass window and the grand doors at the front. There was even a doorman- Steve wasn’t a nervous boy, but even he was somewhat startled by the smartly-dressed man, who told him Dr Banner was expecting him.

He stepped into a chrome and marble-print lift and fiddled with the strap of his fraying backpack, now thoroughly aware of how badly he fitted into this shiny-surfaced world, in his mackintosh that used to be Bucky’s (still too big for him), his darned socks and patched-up jeans. He knew Dr Banner was Dr Foster’s friend from university, but at this rate he wouldn’t be surprised if Dr Banner owned the university.

Dr Banner tutored a number of students, and most of them, according to Tony Stark (who knew everything there was to know via his best friend, Pepper Potts), were from the finest fee-paying schools New York had to offer. He apparently held his private tutoring sessions in his apartment alongside his university work, and since he was only temping as a teacher, they had decided it was best for Steve to go through the same process his other students did- his apartment was where his textbooks and test papers were, Dr Banner had reasoned. Paperwork had been signed, arrangements made, address details given, and finally Steve was here, standing outside Dr Banner’s apartment door, clutching the scrap of paper on which he had scrawled the address and trying to get up the courage to knock.

However, Steve was freed from having to bring himself to knock, as the door swung open from the inside. In the entranceway were two men, one Dr Banner himself, the other around the same age, but in a sweater vest from several decades ago, with dark, wavy hair, a wheelchair, and an easy smile.

“Ah. Excuse me.” The man apologised politely in an accent Steve recognised as English (mostly from when Bucky impersonated the Queen, or when Mrs Macauley from number 53A invited them down to watch television with her). “I was just leaving.”

“Steve, this is Professor Xavier, one of my university colleagues.” Dr Banner explained, and the other man extended a hand, which Steve shook in surprise.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise- and please do call me Charles.” Sweater vest guy said; he seemed pleasant, and he was shiny enough to fit in with the décor. Dr Banner seemed a little shabby and well-worn at the edges in comparison, but warmer and more familiar. “I believe you’re one of Dr Banner’s students?” Steve nodded.

“My name’s Steve Rogers.”

“Delightful.” Charles nodded, but he didn’t seem patronising. Despite the fact he ought to have been jealous of his proximity to Dr Banner, Steve found himself taking an almost immediate liking to the man. “Well, I had best be off. Things to do, children to teach, significant others to call. I’ll give you the rest of that journal later, shall I Bruce?”

“Thanks.” Dr Banner nodded, and Steve stood to one side as Charles left with a cheery goodbye.

“Come on in, Steve. Thanks for being so prompt.” Dr Banner smiled, and Steve wasn’t prepared to be hit by the full intensity of Dr Banner’s apartment. Every inch was white or cream, dustless surfaces, a few silver-framed artsy pictures of flowers hanging on the walls. It looked like some kind of show home, but Steve couldn’t help but wonder where all the mess of a place being lived in was. He nodded dumbly and stepped inside, toeing off his shoes in the hall and feeling softer carpet beneath his feet than he had ever felt before. The incongruity of it and Dr Banner’s appearance- patched-up cardigans and mussed hair- was peculiar.

“You have a lovely home.” Was what his genius brain came up with, which made him sound more like a housewife from the fifties than a smart, dynamic young Brooklyn artist not that they couldn’t overlap, he reminded himself). Had he been paying attention, he would have noticed Dr Banner’s brief, endeared smile at his politeness, but as things were he was just busy being incredibly careful not to knock anything over with his coat as he removed it.

“Thanks.” Dr Banner nodded, leading Steve down a long, bright corridor, past a number of doors- Dr Banner’s apartment must span the whole floor, he mused, amazed. “It’s mostly thanks to my roommate- you’ll see her around.” He explained as they walked. “Her name is Dr Betty Ross, she’s a nuclear physics student, just like me.”

“Does everyone you hang out with have a title…?” Steve asked, before he could consider whether or not that was kind of rude. Nevertheless, Dr Banner chuckled a little under his breath. Something pulsed between Steve’s ears, gripping onto that sound and instantly demanding more of it.

“No, no. Charles’ partner’s just a civil engineer.” Dr Banner explained, opening the door at the end for Steve and ushering him into a clean, airy study. On one wall, a wide window provided a view of the city skyline, and the rest were filled with shelves. Most of them held books and files, papers ranging from dusty old tomes to bright fresh leaves, but on a few there were odd plants Steve had never seen before, and one side table held a heated vivarium that buzzed quietly. Steve stared at the glass cage as a lizard skittered through the loam at its floor- he’d always thought he’d rather have a dog of some kind than any sort of reptile as a pet, but at that moment a lizard seemed to be possibly the coolest pet in the world for anyone to own.

“He’s from the lab.” Bruce explained, sorting papers on a desk in front of two chairs, not having to look up to know what Steve was interested by. “We’re monitoring his regenerative abilities; his name is Osborne.”

“I thought you said you were a nuclear physicist…?” Steve looked to Dr Banner, who looked away rather modestly and scratched at the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I dabble.”

“What, in genetics…?”

“Something like that.” Dr Banner smiled enigmatically and indicated a chair at the desk. “Well then, let’s get started.”

Steve had been dreading the actual learning- he knew he could do it, but everything seemed so intimidating when faced with such a smart tutor. He had worried when he hit a mistake, Dr Banner might think him stupid, but if he did, in reality, he did well to hide it, calmly explaining the problem and coaxing the correct answers out of Steve. He had never been much of a scientist, but as the session went on Steve was shocked to find himself actually enjoying the subject, appreciating the logical steps the world seemed to take- not to mention the tutor who explained them.

If he had previously thought that Dr Banner was a good teacher, one on one he was even better. It was obvious he cared a lot about his subject, and he had to stop himself several times from going off on (frankly adorable) tangents. Steve found himself being drawn more and more towards the man beside him, as Dr Banner (Bruce, while they were out of school, which both thrilled and scared Steve with its familiarity) failed to treat him like the child or dullard most of the teachers assumed him to be at first.

Sitting so close to him, Steve had time to study every inch of him when he wasn’t looking, and he could even watch his hands when he was. He noticed a few little things he hadn’t before- flecks of paler skin here and there, the soft swell of a mole on his neck, the curve and sweep of his ears. His fingers itched to draw every little detail, to have Bruce on a couch and study him for hours with brushes, pencils, and eventually his own hands.

“Steve…?” Bruce’s voice brought him hurtling back to the present with a start. “Do you understand how to balance this equation, or…?” Steve looked at Bruce and met concerned, deep eyes and Steve found himself asking for the hundredth time why the most unattainable men had to also be the most attractive.

“I’m fine.” Steve nodded, looking back to the problem sheet.

“You look a little red.” Bruce said, clearly concerned. He reached over and flicked on the kettle on one of the side tables. “How do you take your tea?”

Steve blinked in surprise up at Bruce- he hadn’t been expecting that. “I. Uh. No. That is, I’ve never really tried it.”

“No?” Bruce let that little smile dance over his lips again, and Steve watched it without realising what he was doing for a moment. “Well, tea is sort of my fuel, so if you’d like I can make you one and you can see what you think?”

“Sure.” Steve nodded, looking over a little nervously.

“Are you allergic to anything?” Bruce asked as he stood up, rifling through a small box held just out of Steve’s line of sight.

“Nope.” Steve said, quietly rather proud of that fact. “It’s about the only thing not wrong with me.” He added, a little less happily.

“Ah, yes. Dr Foster mentioned something about your health.” Bruce seemed to wince, like he felt he’d accidentally touched on a raw subject. “And you’re a little older than people think?”

“Yes, I turned eighteen last July.” Steve explained, watching as Bruce pulled two fabric pouches full of something with strings attached to them out of his little box and set them on the table, before rummaging around in his desk drawers. “I got held back a year when I was younger.” He explained, playing with a loose thread at his cuff. “I was pretty sick, spent most of the year in hospital, so the board decided to hold me back a year.” He explained, only mildly resentful.

“Do you feel that was the right decision?” Bruce asked, pulling out two mugs from the drawer, one with swirling, hand-painted patterns looping around it, the other with a grumpy cat on proclaiming it hated Mondays. “To hold you back, I mean.”

Steve considered it for a moment. “It kind of sucked, to be honest. I got to be in Bucky’s year, but it also meant I didn’t really know anyone else in it, and all the teachers looked at me like ‘oh, you’re that hospital kid’. It kind of grated, and getting back into the routine of things was hard work, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to learn and stay in school. Not to mention I got to spend most of my off year, while I was conscious enough, drawing and meeting people.” Steve kept muttering, seemingly lost in the memories of his year out. “You’d see people come in and not know whether they’d make it or not, and I got to hear some amazing stories. I made some good friends that year, I still visit them sometimes, but my doctor says it’s risky to go to a hospital if I’m not sick just in case I catch something, so it’s not as often as I’d like.”

That was how Steve found himself sitting with a mug of steaming herbal tea beside Dr Bruce Banner, telling him war stories some of the older patients had told him. Bruce seemed genuinely interested, looking sombre and laughing at the right parts. Steve told a particularly difficult story about a woman who had been convinced he was the spitting image of her sweetheart during the war, and how she had told him every time she saw him that she’d regretted ever letting him go- and he could have sworn he saw Bruce’s eyes begin to water behind his glasses.

It was only with a knock on the door, in the middle of one of Steve’s happier stories, mugs drained and cooled on the side, that they were both jolted out of their cosy conversation. Bruce sat up straight and stock-still like a hare, and for a moment Steve could have sworn he saw him hold his breath, before a woman’s voice came through the door.

“Bruce, Scott is here for his eight o’clock with me, I just wanted to check in before- oh.” A woman of Bruce’s age had popped her head round the door, and Steve couldn’t help but notice Bruce instantly relax beside him. The woman had long, curling dark hair, dark eyes and a polite smile, and Steve could almost feel the strength of the bond of her and Bruce’s closeness in the air. It was a little painful, especially as he’d just thought he was getting somewhere, just started to relax, but he smiled back politely anyway.

“Ah, Betty, this is Steve Rogers. Steve, this is my roommate, Dr Betty Ross.”

“Call me Betty. Nice to meet you, Steve.” Betty smiled and shook Steve’s hand. Steve knew it wasn’t her fault really, but even then the interruption still- well. Sucked.

“You too, ma’am.” Steve responded without even thinking. It was something the nuns and his family had drilled into him instinctively, he was used to calling the nurses it, and it slipped out at awkward points. Like, uh, right now.

“Ma’am?” Betty smiled, seeming charmed, if a little perplexed.

“It’s amazing.” Bruce commented, not unkindly. “It took me months to convince him not to call me ‘sir’.”

Betty laughed at that. “You’re not a sir, goodness me. It’s nice for you to meet people with manners, though.” Steve’s ears went a little pink at the compliment, as Betty spoke on. “Anyway, I thought you had Jean soon…?”

Bruce looked a little startled, as if he’d completely forgotten he had other students. He ran a hand through his curls anxiously, clearly working through his schedule mentally. “I meant to hand in my paper, too, before Jean. Sorry, Steve- we’re going to call it there for today, I lost track of time a bit.”

“No problem.” Steve nodded, turning to clear up his workbook and missing a tinge of red on Bruce’s cheeks. “I ought to get home, Bucky worries like a mother hen.”

“Right. I’ll walk you out.” Bruce nodded, tidying too, searching through his desk drawers. “I’ve got to go to the campus, anyway.”

Betty left with a curious smile on her face as the pair gathered up their things and headed for the hall in a strangely pregnant silence. Bruce reached for a pen on the desk at the same time as Steve did, and their fingers brushed. For the briefest of moments, Steve couldn’t breathe. (The good kind.)

“Sorry.” Bruce apologised, picking up the pen and slotting it back into the pencil pot with a loud clack. His lizard skittered further under the leaf loam at the noise, and Steve eyed a wad of paper on the shelf beside him that looked very official, suddenly feeling a little bashful about the contact and the fact his ears were bright red now.

“Is this what you’re looking for…?” Steve asked, indicating the bound stack of papers, and watching as Bruce breathed a sizeable sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness.” He chuckled, gathering them up. “My supervisor would have killed me. I’m a few years younger than a lot of the other students on my course, so he’s pretty keen on me keeping up.”

They egressed with a little more casual comfort, chatting about Steve’s other deadlines and how good his progress had been, something and nothing really, until they came to stand awkwardly outside Bruce’s building in the stark, bright streetlights.

“You’ve done well today, I’m sorry it overran a bit.” Bruce said, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the pavement, then after a moment’s hesitation, offering out a hand to shake. “I’ll see you in school.”

“Sure. And thanks for this.” Steve shook Bruce’s hand, relishing the brush of skin on skin, mapping the sensation even though he knew it was wrong to be so devoted to a teacher. “I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused.”

“Not at all, no trouble.” Bruce shook his head in earnest, dark curls bobbing. “It’s a pleasure. Next week, same time?”

Steve was left in the streetlight, still nodding, dazed, the word “pleasure” in Bruce’s voice echoing in his ears.

He was so screwed. (Not the good kind.)


End file.
